Poems and Songs of Vladimir Vysotsky.

Vladimir Vysotsky.

Someone Else’s Rut.

But I’m to blame for my bad lot,


I groan and weep—

In someone else’s rut I got,


it’s long and deep.

I made my plan, I set my goal


deliberately,

And now I have no choice at all—


no liberty.

The verges of this well-trodden rut
Are steep and slippery with mud.

I curse those who discovered this rut,
My forbearance will soon give out,
And I say o’er and o’er like a nut,
“To a rut, in a rut, with a rut...”

But what’s the reason to count this drive


unbearable?

I can’t declare that such a life


is terrible.

No one will caught your car or hit,


so don’t complain.

Ye even may increase your speed


along your lane.

There’s no denial in chow and sup,
While going forth within this rut.

And I quickly put trust in my luck—
All around me also got stuck.
Carry on, chum, a wheel in a wheel!
And ye’ll get right where all ever will.

Here someone gave a loud shout,


“Make way, ye there!”

And started struggling with the rut,


a crazy bear.

He simply wasted in this struggle


his soul’s warmth,

So his worn-out valves busted up—


and what there was.

When struggling, he crumpled the rut verges—
Now it’s more wider than it was.

But his track was abruptly cut short—
They dragged this crazy bear off the road,
For no one has the right to obstruct
The hard traffic in this good old rut.

I faced my turn—the battery drained,


and plugs can’t spark.

My peace went off and came vexation—


the car got stuck.

I ought to push it to the end,


but I can’t do—

Perhaps, behind me, there’s a friend


who’ll pull me through...

But in the help I can’t put trust,
Because it’s someone else’s rut.

How I wish to spit with mud and clay
In this rut that’s not mine anyway!
Now it’s deeper because of my drive,
And I’m blamed by all driving behind.

I felt myself break out in sweat


up to the bones,

And then I walked a bit ahead


along a board.

I saw that vernal flows cleared


my way, I gasped...

The way out of the rut appeared—


I’m saved, at last!

The tires spin and spit out mud—
To hell with someone else’s rut!

Hey, back there! Make your way just like me—
That’s, don’t go the pathway I’m on.
This new rut appertains but to me,
Get ye out by a rut of your own!

1972.

Main Page.